Elara's steps felt heavier with every echo down the hall. The book pressed against her ribs beneath her cloak, its presence a heartbeat of its own. A secret tucked close to her chest.
She paused just outside the sunroom.
Beyond the carved wooden doors, sunlight spilled in from the glass ceiling, painting gold across pale marble. The scent of citrus blossoms drifted out, delicate and misleading. For all its warmth and beauty, Elara knew the room was a stage. A trap wrapped in flowers.
She took a breath, adjusted her shoulders, and stepped in.
Lady Enira sat by the arched window, cloaked in shadow and sunlight, the kind of woman whose silence spoke louder than most people's shouts.
Grandmother. Matriarch. Keeper of too many secrets.
She had ruled House Caerwyn with velvet gloves and iron rules for as long as Elara could remember.
"You're late," she said mildly.
Elara didn't apologize.
"I was reading," she said, moving toward the other seat across from her.
Lady Enira's lips twitched. "So I heard."
The air shifted. Elara caught it. A thread of knowledge, unspoken. Kaelin had already spoken to her.
Still, Lady Enira poured her a cup of tea, delicate as ever. The porcelain clinked gently, her hands steady, practiced. She always moved like someone who never rushed because time obeyed her instead.
Elara sat, wrapping her fingers around the cup though she didn't drink. The tea smelled like lemon and mint, calming things. Disarming things.
"How are your studies?" Lady Enira asked. Pleasant. Polite. Pointless.
"I think I've outgrown the lessons," Elara said evenly.
Enira's eyes narrowed, just for a flicker of a second. "That's quite a bold claim."
"I think boldness runs in the family," Elara said. She let the words hang, sharp and glittering between them.
Lady Enira's smile didn't waver. "Is that so?"
There was silence. Long enough to stretch.
Elara sipped her tea just to fill the space. It tasted clean. Unremarkable. But still, she didn't trust it.
"You remind me more of your mother every day," Enira said at last, and for the first time, her voice dipped into something almost tender. Almost.
Elara's grip on the cup tightened.
"You never talk about her," she said quietly. "Not really."
Enira looked out the window, watching the sunlight catch on the petals of the garden beyond. "Because grief is a private thing."
Elara waited. Nothing more came.
"Did she shimmer too?" Elara asked, too direct, too sudden.
The air went still.
Lady Enira slowly turned back to her. "What makes you ask that?"
Elara didn't flinch. "Because I saw a woman in the catacombs. A vision. And then I found her in the bloodlines. Lady Nira Aerlyn. Shimmered. Exiled. You knew, didn't you?"
There. She'd said it. Thrown the stone.
Lady Enira's face remained unreadable, but something in her posture changed. Not fear. Not shock. Just… calculation.
"I wondered how long it would take you to find that book," she said finally.
Elara blinked.
"You didn't stop me?"
"There are some truths a person must choose to see. You've chosen."
Elara's heart pounded. "So you knew. About the shimmer. About the visions. About what I am."
Lady Enira nodded once. Slow. Grave.
"I knew."
The weight of that admission settled heavily between them.
"And my mother?" Elara whispered. "Was she like me?"
Lady Enira looked away again. This time, it took her longer to answer.
"She shimmered once," she said softly. "Only once. And she was terrified of it."
"Why?"
"Because she knew what it meant."
Elara's hands went cold.
"And what does it mean?" she asked.
Lady Enira finally met her eyes.
"It means you are part of something old. Something powerful. And something many people would rather stay buried."
Elara's chest ached.
"So you all lied," she said. "You kept this from me. You watched me change and said nothing."
"To protect you."
"Or to control me," Elara shot back.
A long pause.
"There is a thin line between protection and control," Enira said. "But you are not a child anymore, Elara. You're starting to understand things that others died trying to unearth. That comes with consequences."
"Like exile?" Elara asked.
Enira's eyes glinted. "If you're not careful."
Elara pushed back her chair and stood. The book pressed hot against her ribs now, like it wanted out.
"You think I should be afraid of what I am," she said. "But I'm not."
Enira looked up at her calmly.
"You should be."
The words weren't cruel. They were honest. And somehow, that was worse.
"I'm not Nira," Elara said, lifting her chin. "I'm not going to be erased."
Lady Enira gave her the faintest nod. "Then make sure you're strong enough not to be."
The tea sat between them, untouched and gone cold.
Elara turned and left.
She didn't stop walking until she reached her room. She closed the door, locked it, and dropped the book onto her desk like it was on fire.
Her hands were trembling.
Not from fear, not entirely, but from everything. From the truth cracking open around her like glass. From the pieces that didn't fit neatly anymore.
Nira had shimmered. Her mother had shimmered. And Elara shimmered still.
It wasn't a mistake. It wasn't madness. It was history clawing its way back through her blood.
She lit a candle and opened the book again. This time, she read slowly. Thoroughly.
The whispers in the margins. The ink that trailed off mid-sentence. Mentions of a council. A name scratched out. And beside it, faintly: "The Order of Veilkeepers."
She didn't know what it meant yet.
But she would find out.
She traced Nira's name with her finger. She stared at the hand-drawn face that looked too much like her own.
"You were exiled," she whispered. "But I won't be."
She pressed her hand to her chest. The shimmer inside her pulsed, like it heard. Like it agreed.
This time, she didn't push it away.
This time, she let it burn, and let herself feel it.